


Now and Tomorrow

by wordsalad



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsalad/pseuds/wordsalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years have passed. A journey across pond. Start of something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now and Tomorrow

**Andy's POV:**

"You've never talked about this."

"I didn't think that I needed to."

She rolls those blue eyes at me, "Well it might have been nice to have some insight."

"Ahh, but that would spoil the air of mystery."

"Andrea…" she warns.

"OK then," I start, spinning her lightly around to the mournful strains of the piano. "When did it start? I don't know. I never was this.. I was always an outcast, but I know that it's grown worse. I've managed to fumble all opportunities for love away so. I just decided to try more."

"Then you saw that that tramp you work with was changing."

"Yeah," I smirk. "She warned me that one day I'd get over you, I'd be ready and…"

"She'd be gone."

"Exactly."

"So, I'm plan B then."

"No!"

"Sorry but that's how it feels."

"Miranda…" the words fail me. Looking at her, in this dimly lighted jazz club in Paris, thousands of miles from home, and I know if there's a time to be honest it's now. But for the life of me I can't seem to find my way.

Letting out a deep breath, she pulls away from my arms. "Let's go. I need some air."

We head to the table, collect our things and wade our way to the door. She doesn't pause at the door, and I don't try to catch up. I know she needs this space and frankly, so do I.

Wrapping my coat tighter against the November chill in the night air, I wonder, how do I tell her that she can't be plan B. She's not even close. How do you explain that the woman before you was your choice long before you could even guess that you had the right to ask?

When I look up, she's stopped down the street, waiting for me to catch up.

"You've got some of the most bizarre timing, you know.."

I snort, "All my life."

"My career, whatever it once was, has taken a dive. They all wanted me gone. Even you."

"No I didn't."

"You sided with them."

I don't know what to say, the sad look in her eyes, I see hurt that I never knew existed.

"You've alluded to some less than flattering aspects of me, that while true, make it hard to believe that you'd actually want me. I've been possessive and bitchy, playing those damned politics you hate."

Her cheeks are pink in the cold fall air. In habit I watch her lips move as she prattles on. I want to stop that mouth. I wonder…

Her lips are warm and surprised. I'm surprised. This was impulsive and rash, but it feels so right. With a soft groan she glides her hand to the back of my head, fingers in my hair. I pull her closer and marvel how well she fits against me.

Her silver hair is soft as I feel them through my fingers, not the warm honey-blonde of my older fantasies. 'No,' my mind tells me, 'but you dreamt of this before Eliza Thomas campaigned her way into your heart then left when the reality of who you are was not what she had dreamed.'

She pulls away, just so our lips are barely touching, "this is going to get messy," she sighs.

"Isn't it always?" I ask.

"We're asking for a lot of trouble."

"No regrets remember. No looking back."

"Promise?" I detect the vulnerability in her voice.

"Miranda, this isn't impulsive."

She looks up at me again, an arched eyebrow raised.

"Ok it is impulsive, but what I feel, what I want? I've wanted for a long time." Cupping her cheek in my right hand, I run my thumb over her lips as she closes her eyes in a sigh.

* * *

I watch her dance atop me as I use my fingers to touch her innermost self. I never understood how Stephen could stand to sit there as strangers salivated over his wife's creamy skin that seem endless. How I lusted after her even then. As she moves her body in pleasurable circles fueled by our desire, I've never seen anything quite as beautiful or natural in my life.

Her climax flushes across her chest, her eyes so bright. It's like someone has turned a light on inside her. I feel a rush of pride that it was I who bring forth that wave of pleasure on her.

Sex can be a spectator's sport. It is for me. Sometimes the sight of a person in the throes of their pleasure is just as arousing as a caress. Tonight I want to participate. I have a gorgeous, responsive partner in my bed. It's intoxicating that we know each other, yet are learning more.

Her skin, that pink flush of rising blood, the signs of her orgasm, I feel like an artist with a broad canvas. I want to test her limits. Would she let me?

* * *

Later, after the content smiles, the playful smirk she gave me, as she dozed, I watched still. Feeling the way she clutched against me, soft at first then strongly.

I wish that I could erase her fears, brush away some of her scars. Not the large ones like the pain of her father, the betrayal of her husbands, and the shame that she still hides from the her past. Those deep hurts make her the woman I adore, even love. No, I kiss my way over the little scars on her skin; the faint mark at her temple, the fading scar on her stomach when she gave birth to her girls. The line on the side of her thumb when a knife sliced too easily when she was preparing the twins' breakfasts (I learned about this from the twins themselves), her other palm that had been red and swollen after she slapped Stephen prior to ending their marriage (this I also learn from one of the twins). There were so many and although I couldn't remove them, or even prevent more in the future, I wanted her to know that I am here now, and she wouldn't face these without me.

"I know you." I whispered in her sleeping ear.

"And I know you." She intoned back.

I couldn't stop the smirk, "When did you wake up?"

"Reflex of a single mother of teenage girls. Always catch the kid trying to sneak out."

I want to frown at the burden she must have felt when the twins finally reached puberty and dealing with them on her own.

"Hey, they learned from the best. You can't blame the rebel when you started the rebellion."

She ignores me and instead snuggles closer. "What was with the kisses, taking inventory?"

"In a manner, yes. I think I know you better than anyone."

"I could say the same, since I know only what you've let any of us know."

"Miranda, I know I haven't been that open and I can't say that will change. You are not so open yourself, lest you forget."

"Hey," She stops me with a hand against my chest. "I know you and you know me. This is you and if I can't accept that, then this… whatever this is, will never work, no matter how fucking good it feels."

I shudder pleasurably upon hearing her curse, "Why is it that you understand?"

"Ahh… and so we move back to the reason for this little trip across the pond." She sighs, propping her head up against her bent arm. "Was it really to be Eliza here with you or maybe that other lady friend?"

Inexplicably I find that I want to explain, to voice all those thoughts, reasons and theories that have been churning about in my head.

"The appeal of Eliza is that she's straightforward with what she wants. There's little question, little room for speculation because she demands little from me. That's what makes the escape so appealing, and frankly the loss of control, for us both." I softly run my finger on her arm, "I began to see that while she wasn't demanding, I was. I was forcing myself to keep up my emotional distance, that impartiality that was slowly breaking down every relationship in my life, the office, my parents, you. That was hard, Eliza was comfortable."

"And what about that Sarah?" she prompts.

"Sarah?," I take a deep breath. "Sarah was flattering at first. She gave me a part of myself back that I thought I had lost. It was uncharted territory for me again: love, affection, the better parts of myself. I once told her that I never knew what beauty was until she came into my life. That was a lie. She was a good excuse to forget about the pain and loss of my life and take what she offered me, face value and youth."

"What I didn't offer you," She interrupted.

"Huh?" I ask.

"I might have been wrapped up in my own issues Andrea, but I'm hardly blind."

Looking at her with wide eyes, her sleep-tossed hair, swollen lips, the picture of her after a night in bed, I'm struck dumb. I have to fight to keep the weight of guilt from pressing down too tightly on my chest. I could be crushed by the power she has over me.

I want to tell her how painfully beautiful she is. How badly I wanted it to be her when I said that line about beauty to Sarah. How inexplicably corny I find the phrase 'the sun rose in your eyes', but that it's exactly how I feel when I look at her blue orbs. But Miranda runs her hand through my hair, kissing me softly on the mouth, preventing me from speaking up.

"I can't promise much beyond tomorrow, but I'm willing to try. You?" she asks.

"More than you'll ever know." I whisper.

**FIN.**


End file.
